New Beginnings
by csjr
Summary: Missing and extended scenes from series two onwards.
1. Chapter 1

When Martha Costello woke up on her first morning as a QC, her alarm had yet to go off. She shifted against the pillows and rolled on to her back, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.

It was the first weekday that she wasn't due in court for as long as she could remember. It would be the first time she had seen Clive since the silk results had been announced. She would also have to face the sympathetic looks from people who knew about the miscarriage, which was most of Chambers.

Sighing, she got out of bed and made coffee before choosing an outfit, something more casual than usual. Nothing that screamed 'QC' - she didn't want to rub Clive's nose in it. Once showered and dressed she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked fine, although a little paler than normal. That was to be expected.

Then it was time to go.

* * *

Clive strode into his room at Chambers and came to a halt. The desk that had been Kate's was now empty, but what had stopped him was the sight of a shiny new set of silk robes, arranged on a mannequin by Martha's desk. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to his own desk and flopped into his chair, where he glowered at the mannequin that seemed to be taunting him.

This time last week, he'd been sure that he would be a QC now. He'd also thought that he was going to be a father in six months. Now both of those things had been taken away from him.

_Why_ had they chosen Martha over him? He'd done everything he could to achieve his silk. He'd worked so hard. He'd sucked up to Niamh once he'd discovered that her father would be doing his interview. He'd even agreed to act as Billy's lapdog and grass up his friends. And for what? He was a talented barrister, he knew that. Why had Martha been chosen and not him? _Because she's better than you_, a voice in his head whispered. He'd said so himself, you couldn't beat Martha Costello for passion.

He knew he should be happy for Martha. She was his friend - his best friend, even though neither of them would admit to that. He cared about her - _not like that, she made it clear she wasn't interested - _he should be proud of her. He _was_ proud of her. And she had just lost her baby. Their baby. She needed his support, not his jealousy.

_But why her and not me?_ the voice in his head continued to whine.

Maybe it was because of their respective backgrounds. He was a former public schoolboy and Oxford graduate, the stereotypical successful male barrister. Martha, on the other hand, was female, had gone to a comprehensive and, although her accent had softened over the years, you could still tell the moment she opened her mouth in court that she was from the North. Maybe this was reverse discrimination. The thought made him feel better for a moment, disappointment and self-doubt replaced by a sense of righteous indignation. Then he remembered how Martha had clutched at his robes on the court steps last week and felt sickened at himself.

He shrugged off his new leather jacket and went to get a coffee, glaring at the mannequin as he passed.

* * *

Martha went to the ladies toilets not long after she had arrived at Chambers. After trying on her new robes she was now back in the casual clothes she had carefully picked out for today. Once in the cubicle she discovered that she was still bleeding a little. She'd expected this, had worn a pad for this reason, but it still gave her a jolt to see what was left of her baby leaking out of her. She changed the pad, washed her hands and reapplied her lipstick.

Clive had greeted her with his usual cheerfulness when she came in, but he now seemed to be avoiding her, until they had to go and meet Mickey Joy together. They smiled awkwardly at each other as they walked to Martha's car.

"You look terrific," Clive said unexpectedly. It was rare for him to comment on her appearance and she beamed at the compliment.

"Vintage lesbian, it's a good look for you, Martha." Clive strode on as she stopped and glowered momentarily.

Clive's comment did the trick and they talked throughout the car journey, any awkwardness between them gone. They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to talk about the pregnancy, or about Martha beating Clive to silk for that matter. Otherwise, they had slipped back into their usual banter, the strange alliance they had had since they were pupils. Part sarcasm, part disguised affection.

Like nothing had changed between them.

* * *

Martha had spent most of the afternoon phoning round her former clients that had to be passed over to Clive - "talking him up" as Billy had put it. She was in a bad mood when she entered the pub and walked over to where Billy was standing at the bar. He hadn't been answering her calls, although he claimed not to have heard his phone ring. She wanted to meet her client tomorrow, without prison guards standing over them or his solicitor answering questions for him.

Martha found Clive sitting at a table talking with an attractive brunette. "He's in for a mention tomorrow," she greeted him.

"Well, I don't have to be there, do I?" Clive said, sounding put out. Martha raised her eyebrows. "Two counsel for a mention? I've got a con in a very sensitive case, with George here," Clive continued, gesturing to the brunette. Martha gave her a quick smile. "What time?"

"Ten," said George. "Ten," Clive echoed. "We need Brendan listed not before twelve then." Martha gave him a meaningful look, then turned and left the pub.

Once outside she turned and looked back at where Clive and George were drinking. By the looks of it, Clive had already moved on to his next woman. She shouldn't be surprised. After all, he had moved on to his own pupil less than two weeks after they had slept together. Of course he would move on again, now that their baby was no longer in the way. She knew that wasn't fair, really. She was the one who had rejected Clive after their one-night-stand, who had told him that the pregnancy didn't change anything. She couldn't really blame him for taking her at her word.

But why did he have to move on so _quickly_?

She tore her gaze away from Clive and looked at Billy, who was laughing with Mickey Joy. Something about that alliance made her feel uneasy. She pressed Billy's number on her phone. Billy answered this time. "Brendan's mention, not before twelve tomorrow." Martha hung up before Billy could argue. She took one last look at Clive and George through the window before she started to walk down the street, her hands in her pockets and her footsteps slow and dragging. Clive had moved on and she had to as well.


	2. Chapter 2

"You've got to tell her," Clive was saying as Martha walked into her office. He was talking to Billy, who was standing next to his chair. They both fell silent as Martha entered.

"Tell me what?" Martha inquired as she swung her bag down on her desk. She looked from Clive to Billy, who couldn't meet her eyes. Clive got up and came around to stand in front of his desk.

"It's bad news, Marth," he said gently. "It's Brendan Kay, he's been killed."

Martha thought her legs might give way but she somehow remained standing. "The Farrs?"

Clive nodded. "The police can't prove it, obviously. He was found soon after the trial ended-"

"How?" Martha interrupted. "How was he killed?"

The details seemed to be too much for Clive, who looked at Billy for support.

Billy finally spoke: "They pulled out his eyeballs. They cut off his ears, his nose..."

"No," Martha whispered.

"His tongue-"

"_No_," Martha turned and ran, nearly knocking over Jake as she stumbled through the clerks' room.

* * *

"Martha?"

Clive had followed her into the toilets. Martha was leaning over the sink, trying not to retch. Clive took a quick glance at the 'female' sign on the door as he let himself in. He approached the sink and put a hand on Martha's back. "Marth..."

"It's my fault," Martha said, her voice choked out.

"What? No, of course it isn't..."

"You warned me what would happen if he grassed up the Farrs. I should never have put him on the stand. At least he'd be alive in prison." Martha turned the tap on and splashed her face with cold water.

"Brendan wouldn't have survived in prison, you know that." Clive looked over his shoulder as the door opened. Bethany, the new junior clerk, had just walked in. She gave Clive a strange look before shutting herself in one of the cubicles. Clive turned back to Martha, who had grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and was scrubbing her face. "Look, let's both take the rest of the day off. We can go somewhere, do anything you like..."

Martha shook her head. "I can't. I've got to contact Brendan's family." She threw the paper towel in the bin and walked out, leaving Clive standing in front of the mirror.

* * *

Getting hold of Brendan's family proved more difficult than Martha had anticipated. She managed to speak to his social worker, who was organising the funeral. Clive sat across the room while she was trying to track down Brendan's nearest relatives, knowing better than to interrupt her.

At the end of the day she left her desk and went to the pub. Predictably, Billy was there, sitting alone in the corner. She ordered an orange juice and went and sat down next to him. They sat in silence for a few moments.

Finally Martha spoke. "You knew, didn't you? When we were walking around London..."

Billy sighed and put his pint glass down. "I didn't want to ruin your big moment."

"You should have told me," Martha said.

He nodded. "I know. I won't keep anything like that from you again."

"And no more work from Mickey Joy or the Farrs."

"Miss-"

"I mean it, Billy. Keep that family and their pet fucking solicitor away from me. Or I won't be responsible for what I do." Martha got up and left without finishing her drink. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she walked down the darkened street to her car.

* * *

Brendan's funeral was a quiet affair. There was only a handful of people in the crematorium, including Martha and Billy, who had offered to accompany her. Martha knew that Billy was still seeing Mickey Joy for drinks occasionally, but he never mentioned his name in her presence. Over the next few weeks, Martha coped by throwing herself into her work, especially the court martial that Billy had got for her. This was proper silk work. Clive was clearly jealous. Things were starting to feel normal again. Then Billy apparently thought that enough time had elapsed to ask her to take on a drugs case for the Farrs.

Martha was just coming out of her office when she saw Mickey Joy right there in Chambers, heading for the outer doors. She walked straight past him towards reception, but at the last moment she stopped and turned around. "Just so you know, I'm not taking this drugs case because of you. No other reason, you." Mickey looked surprised at first, but then a slow smile spread across his face as he looked at her. That smile made her seethe but she wasn't about to lose her dignity.

"You know, it's six weeks since Brendan Kay was murdered. I don't know how you've got the nerve to smile." She turned and walked away from him before he could say anything.

* * *

"I told him I thought he was connected to Brendan's death," Martha recounted to Clive as they were walking to the pub that evening. She had to leave for the army barracks early next morning, but Clive had persuaded her to come for a quick drink anyway.

"Blimey, Marth," he laughed, sounding impressed.

"Yeah I know, I'm slightly regretting it now. I should have just punched him." They both laughed. "I miss you," Clive said, so quietly that for a second she thought she'd misheard him.

"What?" she said, stopping and turning to face him, crossing her arms. He came to a halt too. "I miss you," he repeated. She must have looked as confused as she felt. "You know, we were called together, we were pupils together. We've always been side by side in this, and now..." He stopped to silence his phone which had just started buzzing. "Sorry."

She watched him put his phone back in his pocket. "What do you want to say, Clive?" she asked quietly.

Clive looked like he was trying to find the right words. "It hurt when you got silk," he said finally. Martha frowned, feeling sad for him. "Sorry," he continued. "I know I shouldn't be like this. I just - I wanted to tell you because... well, we tell each other everything, don't we?" She nodded and smiled softly. His phone was ringing again. "You'd better get that."

He pulled out the phone and answered. "George, hi." His usual charm was switched back on. Martha watched him chuckle at something George was saying. She nodded slowly to herself and started to walk ahead of him. In spite of the interruption, her heart felt lighter as a result of Clive's words. Hope had been rekindled.

* * *

Martha spent her evening at the barracks drinking and dancing with Captain Robert Cassidy. She was was feeling pleasantly light-headed as they walked the corridor to her room. He'd chivalrously insisted on accompanying her to her door.

"I'm down there," he said, nodding at a door at the other end of the corridor.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. The implication of his words hung, unspoken, between them. She recalled inviting Clive to her room in much the same way on that ill-fated night six months ago. Uncertain how to respond, she smiled and lowered her eyes. "Well... goodnight."

Once alone in her room she changed into her most comfortable nightshirt, half-wishing that she had packed something sexier. She was flattered by the attention Robert Cassidy was paying her, she liked his company. Plus, she hadn't slept with anyone since Clive. What harm could a one-off do? As long as she used contraception this time, that is. She crawled into bed while she considered whether she was actually going to pay Cassidy a late-night visit. She found herself reaching for her phone at the side of her bed. She was hoping to see a message or missed call from Clive, but there was nothing since he had texted her this morning wishing her a safe trip. She rang his number, not sure what she would say if he answered. Part of her just wanted to hear his voice. The call went through to voicemail. He was probably with George right now.

Making her mind up, she got out of bed and slid her key card into the pocket of her pajamas. She opened the door, letting it shut quietly behind her, and crept down the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

It was pouring with rain when Martha arrived at the pub. It had been a long, harrowing day and she was hoping to catch Clive for a drink before she went home. She immediately spotted him sitting alone at a small table, a glass of red wine in front of him. "Clive!" she called, waving to him. The woman who had just walked past her turned and gave her an odd, slightly amused look before departing. Martha reached Clive's table and shrugged off her coat. "Who was that?"

"CPS solicitor."

"She gave me a very strange look," said Martha, sitting down.

"Really?" said Clive vaguely. "Good con?"

Martha started to fill Clive in on the details of her client's history, taking a swig out of his wine glass as she talked. "About as damaged as you can get. Oh, and he says he's the devil."

"High self-esteem at least." Clive's face suddenly changed. "George is coming," he said nervously.

"Shall I hide under the table?" Martha smirked at Clive's discomfort.

"She doesn't know I'm prosecuting. She'd hate it if she knew, so just don't..." Clive whispered urgently, leaning across the table.

"Of course not," Martha assured him. She turned to greet George as she approached them. George sat down, giving Martha a polite smile that left her in no doubt that she would rather it was just her and Clive.

"So, what are you doing in Oxford, Clive?" Martha asked immediately. She wasn't going to drop him in it with George, but the opportunity to make him squirm for a minute was just too good to resist.

"Sexual assault," said Clive after a beat, glaring at her.

"Oh, and who are you for?" Martha asked innocently.

Clive looked like he was undergoing an internal struggle. Should he flat-out lie or admit that he was prosecuting? "Do you mind if we don't talk about it?" he said at last. "It makes me really uneasy, casually discussing this kind of crime." He almost sounded like he meant it.

"I completely understand," said Martha, nodding and smiling sweetly. George was looking between Clive and Martha, sensing that there was something going on that she didn't know about. Clive escaped to the bar to get a bottle of wine.

"So, how's your case going?" Martha asked George. George started to tell her about the young Muslim woman she was representing, who had been arrested for killing her brother. Clive returned with a bottle of Merlot and two more glasses. He looked a little worried to see Martha and George getting on well.

"Don't pour me any Clive, I'd better get home," said Martha, getting up.

"You sure?" asked Clive, not bothering to hide his relief. "You're quite welcome."

"Lots of work to do. Besides, I'd hate to cramp your style." Martha bid George goodnight and left, smiling to herself. Some things would never change.

* * *

"Billy seemed a bit uptight earlier," Martha observed next day at Chambers. She was sitting at her desk, reviewing her client's previous convictions. Clive was making last minute preparations for Oxford.

"He doesn't like me prosecuting, or seeing George."

"Seeing her?"

"Yeah," Clive sat back in his chair, unsure whether he should talk about this with Martha but remembering their agreement that they told each other everything. "We kind of... got it together after you left last night."

"What, in the pub?"

"In the disabled toilet," Clive clarified.

Martha raised her eyebrows. "How romantic."

"Don't be jealous, Marth." It was meant as a joke. She began re-examining some of the papers on her desk.

"So, is it serious?"

"How do you mean, serious?"

"Well, are you committed to her? Because if you're not and you break her heart it's going to have an effect on Chambers."

"You sound like Billy."

Don't mess her around, Clive. She doesn't deserve it." The door opened and Bethany stuck her head around. "Ready, Miss?"

"Yes," Martha gathered up her papers and tucked them under her arm. "Have fun in Oxford, Clive."

* * *

When Clive arrived back in London he went straight to Chambers instead of going home. He was hoping that Martha would still be there, he desperately needed to talk to someone. He'd come back the previous night just to show her the photographs that journalist had handed him, to get her advice. Only he hadn't followed her advice, had he?

He wasn't sure why he had got so invested in this case. He'd wanted to win of course, like always, but more than that he'd wanted to see those boys punished, even though he'd defended rapists and other sex offenders in the past without feeling any guilt. Maybe it was because he'd seen something of himself in the boys, and had hated to think that he could be like them. Both the CPS solicitor and his closest university friend had implied that he was one of them. Even one of the defendants had obviously thought he was one of them, the way he had come over to shake his hand before the trial had started. He'd been so startled he hadn't known how to react in that moment, but afterwards that handshake had made his blood boil. He'd wanted to shout across the crowded courtroom, "_I'm not like you. I'm not on your side, so just fuck off._" That probably wouldn't have helped his next silk application.

Clive knew that he could never force himself on anyone. Whatever his faults, he didn't have that in him. Yet there had been a moment when he'd seen one of the defendants singing the Eton song in the chapel when he'd felt that that could easily have been him twenty years ago. Didn't he have the same amount of privilege as them? Wasn't that why he felt that he was entitled to do whatever it took to win a case, to come out on top? That was why he had poured his heart out to George that night, lying in the single bed in his old college campus. It was unlike him to be so open with a woman, and he barely ever spoke about his childhood, but feeling like he had anything in common with those smug, entitled, destructive boys had shaken him more than he liked to admit.

So he'd been determined to win this case, more so than he ever had while defending. And the whole time he'd had Milson needling him, taunting him...

How could he have been so stupid as to attack a senior member of the bar? He'd never get silk now. He'd be lucky if he wasn't struck off. Milson had promised to end his career. Grabbing Milson in a fit of temper might be brushed over by the Bar Standards Board, but non-disclosure of evidence was much more serious.

As he approached Chambers he saw Martha sitting by the fountain outside, cigarette in hand. "I didn't disclose them," he said as he walked over to join her. She didn't say anything, just blew smoke away from him as he sat down next to her. "Say something."

"Eight years," said Martha quietly.

It took Clive a few seconds to realise that she was talking about the case she'd been defending. "My God, Marth, that's..."

"Right at the top end," Martha finished for him. "But completely unappealable, and coming from our Head of Chambers, unbearable." She threw Clive a sad smile. "How about you?"

"Eight months," said Clive with a touch of bitterness. The lenient sentence had felt like a slap in the face after all he had gone through to get a guilty verdict. Martha seemed to understand this. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Haven't stopped being angry about it since it happened."

"Then you're a prosecutor."

Martha's words made sense of how Clive had been feeling since the trial ended. What if he could be successful by doing something that he was genuinely passionate about? Getting justice for victims and putting criminals away, instead of defending them. "It feels like it fits, Marth. Like I fit with it."

She smiled at him in the pale evening light. He wondered what she would do if he leaned over and kissed her right now. Slap him, probably. Maybe just push him away, if he was lucky. Before he could contemplate the matter any further he was distracted by Billy strolling up to the bench.

"Sir, you survived. The new Mrs Reader's none the wiser, and you're back on the pink ribbons." He handed Clive a stack of papers. "Night," he said over his shoulder as he headed back inside.

Clive stared down at the pink ribbon wrapped around his new brief. Martha leaned in until she was almost resting against him and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Fancy a drink?" said Martha at last.

He nodded. She shifted and stood up. As he got up and put the brief under his arm, his phone started to ring. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. George was calling.

"You gonna get that?" asked Martha, shrugging her bag over her shoulder.

He looked at her and put the phone back in his pocket. "Nah. Let's get that drink."


	4. Chapter 4

Clive stood on Martha's doorstep, the letter from the Bar Standards Board in his pocket. In spite of his situation, he felt a little better already, knowing that he was soon going to be talking to Martha. The door opened and Clive smiled, but it wasn't Martha at the door. It was Daniel, the new pupil. For one insane moment Clive thought he'd got the wrong door.

Daniel didn't seem at all phased to see Clive. "Oh, we thought you were pizza."

"Excuse me?" said Clive, bewildered. Who was 'we'? Martha appeared behind Daniel. "Clive!" She sounded genuinely pleased to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Daniel excused himself and went back inside. "What's going on?" Clive asked, once Daniel was out of earshot.

Martha looked from Clive to where Daniel had disappeared behind her. "We're working." A note of irritation had crept into her voice.

Clive made a disbelieving face. "Oh, for God's sake, Clive," Martha scoffed at him. She indicated that he could come in before turning to follow Daniel.

After a moment's hesitation Clive followed Martha through to her kitchen. He tried not to think about the last time he had been here, just after Martha had told him she was pregnant. "Want a beer?" Martha called, her head inside her fridge.

"Yes, please," said Clive and Daniel in unison. Martha handed Clive a bottle and put another one on the table in front of Daniel. Clive stood awkwardly until Martha glanced up at him. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Clive pulled up a chair. "What did you want?" Martha asked.

"Nothing, really. I just wanted to..." Clive looked at Daniel, who was absorbed in the papers in front of him. "Just wanted to talk." _Alone_, he added silently.

"OK, we'll be wrapped up here soon and then we can chat."

Martha and Daniel continued with their work while Clive sipped his beer. Martha and Daniel seemed so comfortable together that he couldn't help feeling like a third wheel. Which was ridiculous, he'd known Martha for seventeen years and this kid had just arrived. Martha had got on well with her last pupil Nick too, but that had been more maternal. Daniel seemed more worldly and he and Martha already acted like they were on an equal footing. Clive couldn't imagine Martha having Nick over for cosy pizza evenings.

"So, how come you're only looking at the pathologist's report now?" Clive asked.

"Because we never had reason to question the cause of death before." Martha gave him a look that left no room for argument.

Clive took another sip of his beer. This evening wasn't going at all how he had planned. He looked at his watch and started to make an excuse to leave, but Daniel spoke at the same time. Daniel had found something that could help his and Martha's client's case. Clive saw how Martha smiled at the younger man, and it made him feel lonelier than he had in a long time.

"Look, I'm gonna leave you to it," said Clive at last, getting to his feet and putting his scarf back on.

"Are you sure?" asked Martha. "Wasn't there something..."

"No, no." Clive went to let himself out. He looked back through the window as he walked away. Martha was leaning over Daniel, both absorbed in the case as if they had never been interrupted.

* * *

Clive was in the office early the next morning, hoping to catch Martha before she had to go to court. "Hi," she said when she finally arrived. "Sorry we didn't get to talk last night."

"That's alright." Clive couldn't help asking: "What time did you and Daniel finish?" He tried to keep his voice casual.

"Pretty late."

"So what time did Daniel leave?" Clive asked, abandoning all attempts as subtlety.

"What makes you think he left?"

"Funny." Martha didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrows at him. "You're not serious?"

Martha shrugged. "He's an attractive man."

"He's _your pupil_!" Clive sounded so outraged Martha couldn't help laughing. "You're a fine one to talk."

"That was different," Clive muttered.

"Yes, Daniel's over 21 and technically he's your pupil, not mine."

"But - but-" Clive was stuttering, unable to comprehend this development.

"Oh Clive, get a grip. Of course I'm not seeing Daniel."

"You're not?"

"No, we're just friends. As if a lad his age with girls throwing themselves at him would be interested in me."

"Don't be silly, you're gorgeous." Clive had visibly calmed down.

"Am I?" Martha sounded amused as she slid behind her desk. "What did you want to talk about?"

"It doesn't matter, it can wait," Clive muttered as Daniel came in. It would have to wait now.

* * *

Clive arrived at the Old Street Bar and Lounge. He was late to meet Martha and Alan. The latter hadn't said what the meeting was about, but Clive suspected that it involved Caroline Warwick wanting to join Chambers. Martha was already at the bar. "Nice of you to join us," she said with a sardonic smile.

"Yeah." For once, Clive had no comeback. He looked down at his feet. "Listen, Martha, I've had a letter from the Bar Standards Board."

"About Oxford?" she said quickly.

He nodded. "I really need your help." Clive's voice broke before he could help himself. He wasn't going to cry in front of Martha in public, it had been embarrassing enough that time she had caught him sobbing in Chambers.

Martha stared at him. "Jesus, Clive," was all she could say as the seriousness of his situation dawned. Before Clive could say any more Alan was approaching, and Clive quickly blinked back his tears.

* * *

They walked outside in silence. Alan had already departed and the bar had gradually emptied. When they reached Clive's bike, Martha turned to him.

"Right, listen," she said in her no-nonsense tone. "Go home and get a good night's sleep. I'll have a look at previous non-disclosure cases. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

He nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. He looked so defeated, she couldn't help reaching out for him. "Don't worry," she said, squeezing his arm. "Everything will be alright."

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Because you've got me on your side." She smiled up at him. "See you tomorrow."

Clive watched as Martha walked to her car. He lifted his hand in a wave as she drove out of the car park. Whatever was going to happen to him, at least he had Martha Costello on his side.


End file.
